


On the Side of the Stronger

by thefairfleming



Series: City of Illusions [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Gladiator AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 17:16:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6997471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/pseuds/thefairfleming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What were you thinking?” she hisses, pointing one ringed finger at him, and Jon is surprised to feel his temper flare. He’s never gotten angry with her, not since the first time she came to his cell and his insulted her out of a mix of rage and desire. Ever since she came to his bed, he’s treated her as gently as he knows how. He doesn’t always succeed in this when they make love, but then she’s always liked roughness there, urging him on with heels at the back of his thighs or tugs on his hair. But that’s different. That’s passion, not anger, and it is anger he feels at her now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Side of the Stronger

He’s been out of the arena for hours now, but his blood hasn’t cooled, and he can’t seem to stay still, pacing his cell, hands opening and closing at his sides.

When his door opens, he half-expects it to be Mormont, telling him the emperor has asked for his head, for him to be thrown to lions, or whipped until there’s no flesh left on his back. 

But it’s not the lanista darting inside. It’s Sansa, a dun-colored cloak thrown over her fine clothes and bright hair, and at the sight of her, Jon’s heart only pounds faster. And when she throws aside the cloak, heedlessly tossing it to the floor, he realizes her blood is just as hot as his today.

“What were you thinking?” she hisses, pointing one ringed finger at him, and Jon is surprised to feel his temper flare. He’s never gotten angry with her, not since the first time she came to his cell and his insulted her out of a mix of rage and desire. Ever since she came to his bed, he’s treated her as gently as he knows how. He doesn’t always succeed in this when they make love, but then she’s always liked roughness there, urging him on with heels at the back of his thighs or tugs on his hair. But that’s different. That’s passion, not anger, and it is anger he feels at her now.

"They treat me like an animal,” he fires back at her, “so no one should be surprised when I act like one.”

Hands at her waist, Sansa watches him with bright eyes, a pale line around her lips. “Your sword,” she practically spits. “Flung into the emperor’s box like a…like a child tossing away a toy. You could have cut him.”

“I meant to,” Jon all but growls, stepping close to her. “I meant to fucking well kill him.”

She sucks in a sharp breath, but doesn’t step back from him. In fact, she comes closer, her gaze blazing now. “And what would that have accomplished?” she asks. “Other than getting yourself killed as well?”

All Jon can remember now is the despair he’d felt on the sand this afternoon, the sense that his life would never be more than this, killing and swords and blood, while that evil, mad bastard looked on, the woman Jon loved at his side.

“Do you think I care?” he says to that woman now, and is shocked when her hand lashes out, quicker than a snake’s strike, slapping him hard. 

“And what of me?” she asks, tears in her eyes, her voice trembling. “Do you think I don’t care for your life? Do you know what I had to do today to convince Joffrey not to have you torn apart?”

The fight goes out of Jon instantly, and his hands are on her face, tilting her chin up so that he can look in her eyes. “Did he hurt you?” he asks, voice rough. “Sansa, tell me.”

But she is shaking her head, her hands coming up to cover his, her sigh shaky. “No, he didn’t lay a hand on me,” she says. “But Jon, he was so angry, and I didn’t…I didn’t want to beg, because if he knew…,” Her voice breaks then, and she rests her forehead against his. “If he knew that I loved you, he’d only hurt you more.”

Closing his eyes, Jon lifts face to kiss her forehead. “I am so sorry,” he tells her, and she reaches up to clutch at his bare shoulders. 

"Promise me,” she says, her fingers digging into his skin. “Promise me you’ll never do anything so reckless again.”

He thinks again of how he felt this afternoon, the rage that had swelled in his heart looking up at Joffrey. Sansa hadn’t been at his side today. If she had been, Jon would’ve stilled his hand, unable to risk hurting her, no matter how desperate he felt. Or that’s what he tells himself. Remembering that black moment now, he can’t be sure. What if she had been there? What if his sword, knocked aside by one of Joffrey’s guards, had found its way into the box, cutting the sweet, soft skin he knew every inch of?

The thought makes him shudder and he presses her closer. “You deserve better than me,” he tells her now, and she looks up at him, her blue eyes still wet, but her gaze steely, and when she takes his hand and leads it to her waist, urging his fingers to gather up the material of her stola, his blood runs hot with something very different than rage.

“But you are what I want,” she whispers, and her mouth finds his, her lips salty with her tears. “Now make it up to me.”


End file.
